The Book of Humorous Verse Part 140

I may as well Proceed to tell About a Mister Higgs, Who grew quite rich In trade--the which Was selling pork and pigs.

From trade retired, He much desired To rank with gentlefolk, So bought a place He called "The Chase,"

And furnished it--old oak.

Ancestors got (Twelve pounds the lot, In Tottenham Court Road); A pedigree-- For nine pounds three,-- The Heralds' Court bestowed.

Within the hall, And on the wall, Hung armour bright and strong.

"To Ethelbred"-- The label read-- "De Higgs, this did belong."

'Twas _quite_ complete, This country seat, Yet neighbours stayed away.

n.o.body called,-- Higgs was blackballed,-- Which caused him great dismay.

"Why _can_ it be?"

One night said he When thinking of it o'er.

There came a knock ('Twas twelve o'clock) Upon his chamber door.

Higgs cried, "Come in!"

A vapour thin The keyhole wandered through.

Higgs rubbed his eyes In mild surprise: A ghost appeared in view.

"I beg," said he, "You'll pardon me, In calling rather late.

A family ghost, I seek a post, With wage commensurate.

"I'll serve you well; My 'fiendish yell'

Is certain sure to please.

'Sepulchral tones,'

And 'rattling bones,'

I'm _very_ good at these.

"Five bob I charge To roam at large, With 'clanking chains' _ad lib._; I do such things As 'gibberings'

At one-and-three per gib.

"Or, by the week, I merely seek Two pounds--which is not dear; Because I need, Of course, _no_ feed, _No_ washing, and _no_ beer."

Higgs thought it o'er A bit, before He hired the family ghost, But, finally, He did agree To give to him the post.

It got about-- You know, no doubt, How quickly such news flies-- Throughout the place, From "Higgses Chase"

Proceeded ghostly cries.

The rumour spread, Folks shook their head, But dropped in one by one.

A bishop came (Forget his name), And then the thing was done.

For afterwards _All_ left their cards, "Because," said they, "you see, One who can boast A family ghost Respectable _must_ be."

When it was due, The "ghostes's" screw Higgs raised--as was but right-- They often play, In friendly way, A game of cards at night.

_G. E. Farrow._

SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE

Of all the rides since the birth of time, Told in story or sung in rhyme,-- On Apuleius's Golden a.s.s, Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of bra.s.s, Witch astride of a human back, Islam's prophet on Al-Borak,-- The strangest ride that ever was sped Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead!

Body of turkey, head of owl, Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, Feathered and ruffled in every part, Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.

Scores of women, old and young, Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, Shouting and singing the shrill refrain: "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase Bacchus round some antique vase, Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, With conch-sh.e.l.ls blowing and fish-horns' tw.a.n.g, Over and over the Maenads sang: "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Small pity for him!--He sailed away From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay,-- Sailed away from a sinking wreck, With his own town's-people on her deck!

"Lay by! lay by!" they called to him.

Back he answered, "Sink or swim!

Brag of your catch of fish again!"

And off he sailed through the fog and rain!

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead!

Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur That wreck shall lie forevermore.

Mother and sister, wife and maid, Looked from the rocks of Marblehead Over the moaning and rainy sea,-- Looked for the coming that might not be!

What did the winds and the sea-birds say Of the cruel captain who sailed away?-- Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead!

Through the street, on either side, Up flew windows, doors swung wide; Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, Treble lent the fish-horn's bray.

Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, Hulks of old sailors run aground, Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane, And cracked with curses the hoa.r.s.e refrain: "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"

Sweetly along the Salem road Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.

Little the wicked skipper knew Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.

Riding there in his sorry trim, Like an Indian idol glum and grim, Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear Of voices shouting, far and near: "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Morble'ead!"

"Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried,-- "What to me is this noisy ride?

What is the shame that clothes the skin To the nameless horror that lives within?

Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, And hear a cry from a reeling deck!

Hate me and curse me,--I only dread The hand of G.o.d and the face of the dead!"

Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead!

Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea Said, "G.o.d has touched him! Why should we?"

Said an old wife, mourning her only son: "Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!"

So with soft relentings and rude excuse, Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, And gave him a cloak to hide him in, And left him alone with his shame and sin.

Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead!

_J. G. Whittier._

DARIUS GREEN AND HIS FLYING-MACHINE